


Heavy Petting

by Turn_of_the_Sonic_Screw



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: BDSM, Cuddling & Snuggling, F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-24
Updated: 2016-05-24
Packaged: 2018-06-10 10:15:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6952540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Turn_of_the_Sonic_Screw/pseuds/Turn_of_the_Sonic_Screw
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which the Doctor and Clara shop for sex toys and snuggle.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“Where to?” Clara asks him. 

“I thought,” he hesitates, circles around the console, “I thought since we liked my collar so much…” He finishes entering the coordinates with the twist of a knob.

“It does suit you,” she says, smiling, thinking fondly of the bit of red leather tucked away in their toybox. One hand raises, half-consciously, to his throat. “My dear, beautiful Doctor.” She nestles into his side.

“My Clara,” he replies in kind. “All mine.” He sets a gingerly possessive hand on her shoulder, grip tightening as he grows comfortable. That first touch every Wednesday…

“And I’m not likely to forget it.” She backs against the wall, letting him box her in. 

“No?” he asks playfully. “You do seem to like to be in charge.” That was true; she had topped in 61.1% of their sexual encounters. But when she gave herself to him, she did so utterly, selflessly. “I was thinking you might need the occasional reminder.” His thumb brushes her pulse point; he squeezes, just enough to constrict her breathing, enough to make it effortful. She doesn’t struggle, just whimpers and starts rubbing her hand over the seam of her jeans. “A collar of your own,” he murmurs, voice husky. He hears a zip and the rustling of fabric. “You’d like that.” He leans against her slowly, almost casually. Her arm bumps his body heedlessly as she brings herself off. “Guess so.”

“Fuck,” she moans, and then it is his turn to gasp as she drops to her knees. Another zip and she has her lips pressed to the smooth skin of the head of his cock. “If we’re going shopping, I’ll need you to last.” He winces, remembering the kink shop on Nerflex. She grins. “Mind you, I wasn’t objecting,” she adds before drawing him into her mouth. 

Mercy, he thinks, one hand on the wall, the other on her bobbing head. How did she learn to do that? he wonders just before exploding in her mouth. “Shall we?” she asks daintily. He nods his head, fumbles for his fly as she dematerializes them.

By the time they step outside, three bickering aliens have gathered, two vaguely humanoid and a long, snaky bastard. “But where would you attach the ropes?” one of them asks.

“I don’t even think it’s for sale,” the snake hisses.

“Let’s ask the two who just came out,” advises the other humanoid. “I bet it’s some sort of sensory deprivation chamber.”

Well, I was seeing stars a minute ago, the Doctor muses, otherwise ignoring them.

“It’s our ship,” Clara says. “Not for sale. Don’t suppose you know where they keep the collars?” She looks around the massive emporium; while it might be fun to get a little lost in a place like this, some of the wares look too dangerous even for her. Thankfully, the second humanoid jerks a thumb over his shoulder, and soon they are combing through aisle after aisle of collars. There are spikes, and leather, and seed crystals for gemstone collars that grow around the sub’s neck overnight. She’s tempted by one, big and blocky, until she hits one of the buttons and a cutting laser scythes across the interior.

“Swappable heads,” the Doctor mutters. “What about this one?” She looks at it approvingly. Three chains dangle from the collar, terminating in clamps.

“Batteries not included?” she reads.

“ _Bzzt._ ” the Doctor explains, touching a clamp to the tip of her breast.

“Oh. Ooo.” She drops the shock collar into her cart, because they are apparently taking a wholesale approach tonight. Which is fine. She smiles. 

They add another one for her, more jewelry than anything: a gold collar and a gold belt that fits snugly around her waist, connected by very fine gold chains that don’t conceal anything, she discovers as she tries it on. She feels a bit dirty, but she fucks the Doctor in the fitting room while she hasn’t a stitch else on. The cart gains a few other items, including one they don’t even pretend to understand. 

“That enough, then?” the Doctor asks.

Clara purses her lips. “I still want something a bit more comfy. A bit more everyday. Something I can wear for a whole weekend, say, and not have it cause any fuss. Or even to work, Mr. Caretaker.” The Doctor swallows. Hard.

It takes some doing, some searching, a ladder, and about fifteen minutes of pantomime from a helpful young woman wearing nothing but a ball gag (“We could get you one of those.” “I don’t think she was for sale--or, at least, I didn’t see a price tag.” “I meant the gag.”) but she finally finds the _perfect_ one. It’s black, made of a durable material, and locks shut. Clara beams, and they take their purchases to the counter.

“Whose name am I putting on the tag,” the clerk asks, holding an engraving tool.

“His,” Clara says. “Property of the Doctor.” _My Clara,_ he thinks, and goes a little weak in the knees. “Don’t need a lead,” she continues. “Already got one.” _Bossy,_ he thinks, as if he needed the reminder. He pays for the stuff with a credit chit from one of those enormous pockets, and they return to the TARDIS.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where has Clara gotten to?..

He mostly forgets about their shopping spree, except when they have cause to pull out one of their new toys--he honestly hadn’t thought that butt plug looked that big on the shelf, but now his body cares to disagree. After all, there are planets to save and cascades to marvel at and here it is, Wednesday again.

The TARDIS door creaks open and he bounds into Clara’s flat in a flash of red, black, and plaid. “Clara!” he exclaims. “Waterfall on Zebulon-3 made of toffee, so really, more of a toffee-fall, and gravity is a little fuzzy there, so, strictly speaking it’s more of a toffee-rise…” He trails off. “Clara?” The only response he receives is a mewling at his feet. It’s a female cat, striped black and chocolate brown. She promptly vomits a hairball onto his shoes and runs away. “Eurgh.” Disgusted, he pulls off the black leather boots and gives them a scrub before chucking them back into the TARDIS. 

“Must be out doing something less important,” he decides, and takes the TARDIS forward about thirty minutes. “Clara?” he calls again. Still no response. He’s starting to worry, now, but he forces himself to remain calm, grabs something dusty off Clara’s bookshelf and stretches out on her sofa. 

“You again,” he mutters as the cat curls up on his stocking feet. The cat hisses as he tugs his feet away, and relentlessly clambers up onto his stomach, kneading her paws into his hoodie and curling into a lump of stone. He rolls his eyes and returns to _Wuthering Heights_. 

The cat rouses him from his nap as she tears around the flat. He blinks away sleep and finds himself oddly missing the warmth on his chest. Nearly dark, he notices. He calls Clara’s mobile from the TARDIS phone, hears it ring in her bedroom. Empty, just her purse. He scowls and looks down to see the damned cat bringing him a dead mouse. Correction: a mostly-dead mouse. He jumps back as the rodent skitters away. He looks around the room for any other clues; next to the neatly made bed is a row of toys: blindfold, handcuffs, and her favorite flogger. Well, he amends, picking up the toy by its braided handle, her favorite for the receiving end. He lets the cords swing gently with the idle back-and-forth of his hand as he thinks. A tug comes at his hand: the cat is batting at the knotted ends of the cords with intense focus.

“What is the matter with you?” he asks the cat, picking it up under its shoulders. As he lifts it to his face, he sees a glint of silver. ‘Property of the Doctor.’ it reads. “Clara?” The feline bobs its brindled head. He sets her down on the bed and pulls out the sonic sunglasses. “You’re a cat!” he announces needlessly. “Look at you! You’re tiny, you gorgeous little thing. I think your eyes got bigger and your head got smaller.” He strokes the fur of her head with one hand as he continues to scan her; she nuzzles up into his touch. “Ah, something in the collar,” he realizes. He changes settings, probing the device. “Just need to reverse the polarity…” and the next thing he knows, there is a very naked Clara Oswald curled up on the bed in front of him. She unlocks the collar and tosses it away.

“I killed a mouse!” she blurts out, and sprints out of the room. 

“You only mostly killed it,” he offers, thumbing frantically through his notecards. Here we go. “I’m terribly sorry you were turned into a housepet and I do not believe it is anything to be ashamed of.” She had written that one after he had mocked the Empress of Pelagia, the pompous ass, for being turned into a parakeet. “You snuggled extremely well. It was nice.” He shifts his weight from one foot to the other. “You aren’t mad, are you?”

“God, no; just brushing my teeth.” She kisses him, minty clean. She yawns. “Come to bed, I’m knackered. I think my metabolism still thinks I should be sleeping 16 hours a day.” Well, he thinks, he had just complimented her on her snuggling capabilities, and he follows her to bed.

“May I?” He asks, holding up the collar.

“Not going to turn me into a Siamese, is it?” He shakes his head, but his eyes glint at the idea. She nods in reply, trusting his technical ability, and turns away from him, lifting her hair away from her neck as he secures the fabric snugly around her throat. 

“My Clara,” he whispers into her ear. She trembles a little as the lock shuts with a click, but doesn’t flinch. Good girl, he thinks. One, two, three--still a human. She nods with relief. “Come to bed, my Clara.”


End file.
